Dangerous Game
by arwenfrodogurl
Summary: Henry was the man she loved. Hyde was the one who answered.


The curtain went down on the last dance sometime in the wee hours of the morning, swishing closed on the tired bodies of the brothel's less fortunate. Lucy managed a final walk through the tables, snatching up whatever cheap trinkets and ornaments that could be pawned. The air was smoky as always, but the summer heat made the room suffocating and cramped. She rubbed wearily at her temples, glancing back at the other girls moving slowly through the haze. Most were older workers, women who found themselves giving up prime hours for the younger set, painting their faces until they were little more than caricatures. It had been an unbearably long night, full of rowdy men with shallow pockets and little else, wasting their wages on booze and leaving coins for the girls. Lucy has spent her hours singing after her first dance brought in only a quarter of her usual earnings. She was worn out, exhausted from weeks of looking for Henry in the crowd. As she climbed the stairs to her room she recalled the man she'd stopped tonight, her face too open, too inviting. He had turned, shocked by the warmth in her voice. She'd recovered too slowly, forced to spend an agonizing half-hour flirting when she knew his pockets to be empty.

It was miserable, she decided, to live so close to the stage. She needed a change of scenery, even if it meant more work on her back and less on the floor. It was spacious below stairs, but hardly a home, though she'd been granted her own dressing room near the stage. She turned the knob without thinking, surprised when the door swung open. It's been too long, she'd probably left it unlocked after her last costume change. With four shows a night and ten or more "appointments" in an afternoon, Lucy had more than she could handle, the unlocked door just another sign of her exhaustion. She'd let Henry get to her, a mistake she'd promised wouldn't happen again.

The door slipped quietly shut behind her as she lit the lamps, cheered somewhat by the rosy glow they cast over the room. She'd given herself a treat last month, buying a real coverlid in place of her thin blankets. It was too hot for the summer nights, but she continued to use it, too thrilled at having something thick to snuggle under. Her customers never saw it during working hours; this was strictly hers, one of the few luxuries she'd accumulated over the years. She sank onto a stool as she pulled pins from her hair, dropping them haphazardly on the table as she scrubbed the rouge from her lips. Her hair swept down over her shoulders, clinging to her neck until she pushed it up on her scalp, leaning back and letting her eyes close against the heat.

Ice brushed across her shoulder, like a breath of winter across her skin. Her eyes flew open; she must have forgotten someone this afternoon, come back now to claim a quick lay. She hitched a smile onto her face, turning her head slightly to catch a whiff of smoke.

"Your fingers are cold, mister." She whispered it, her voice deliberately throaty in the vain hope it would hasten his interest. The heat returned, miserably descending on her like a cloak as she felt sweat gather on her skin. You would think he'd hurry, she thought irritably, most of the city was asleep by-

Like ice on metal, his fingertips melted against her spine, stroking downwards with uncanny ability, forcing an involuntary shiver. She licked her lips, surprised; not many men could elicit a response she didn't intend.

"Now that's nice…" she tilted her head, hearing him shift to her right. She turned her head only to be met with a low growl. A primal boy, oh well, so much the better. They always took their pleasure quickly, and generally they paid well. She closed her eyes, feeling exhaustion close at the corners of her mind. It was so late, why couldn't he just come back tomorrow, why hadn't she locked the door? Smile, she reminded herself. Smile and earn a few extra shillings for the trouble. She opened her eyes, swiveling to meet his gaze.

"Henry!"

But it wasn't Henry. She knew this face, this distorted version of the gentle man who conjured her daydreams. He was stooped slightly, his jaw somehow out of joint, his pale eyes darker in the dim light. All his gentleness had gone out of him, leaving behind something that she had met once before, that terrible, intoxicating creature he called Hyde.

"I told you I'd come back."

"So you did." She stared into his eyes, searching for some remnant of Jekyll in them and finding none. There was only lust, undisguised and utterly unabashed, a declaration without any kind of pretense or intent. Hyde was the epitome of evil, and if Jekyll was right, there was nothing this half would not do-or that Henry would not be ashamed of.

"I'm afraid I'm tired tonight, mister. It's very late-"

He spun her around, shoving his mouth hard on hers in a crushing kiss. She smelled something, a sharp whiff she couldn't place, and then it was gone, his mouth and hands across the room, leaving her gasping for air. His eyes devoured her, black pools that seemed to invade her soul with their scrutiny, until at last she looked away, shoving pins back into her tangled curls. This was wrong, enjoying this attack, this meeting Jekyll would have never permitted himself. Henry was a gentleman, engaged to one of the ton, moral to a fault. Hyde would violate that in every sense, use her in ways she allowed only when very drunk or very reckless, and tonight she was both. She moved slowly towards him, shaking her head.

"I can't, Henry, I'm not myself tonight. I-I'm interested in you as more than a customer, and I don't think-I don't think you'd want this as much in the morning."

"And what," he rasped "says I'll be any different in the morning?" he limped towards her, running his hand over her chin and down to her breasts, pawing her without any sign of remorse. "Jekyll won't have you the way he wants, so I'm here to do it for him." He let her go, grinning lopsidedly as she struggled for breath. "Don't pretend you don't want it-haven't…dreamed of it. You wouldn't admit to _Henry_ your darkest dreams, would you? That, little _princess_, that would…kill…him." Hyde growled out a laugh, mocking her even as he closed the distance between them. "Tell me to go..."

"No." she said it instinctively, but it was a weak lisp of a sound, cracking from weariness. Henry's face swam before her eyes, but it was Hyde's hands slithering over her clothes.

"No? Stay, then?"

"No…" weaker still as his sweat-slicked cheek touched her neck. She gasped for air, annoyed at her body even as she sighed with longing.

"You can't win…" he hissed into her ear, laughing under his breath as she strained against him.

".._no_…" it was a whisper, granting permission as her thoughts whirled. His kissed were so wet, so hot on her skin, his giant hands so strong…and yet, she remembered other hands, soft and trembling in her own, afraid to so much as shake her hand.

"No!" she jerked away, nearly running to her dressing table as she forced a laugh. She dug into a drawer, yanking a small flask from the depths and downing half of its contents. Her voice rasped as she spoke, the brandy still burning its way down her throat. "What are you doing to me, Hyde? You know he'd regret it."

He tilted his head sharply, an audible crack as he leered at her. "Losing the battle, whore?" he clicked his tongue, amused. "What a crime Jekyll never had you himself." He crossed the room in three strides, pulling her close and pinning her arms as she struggled.

"It's dangerous, Hyde." She lifted her chin, twisting in his grip. His hands were like iron on her wrists, bruising the skin and forcing her back against the table. "You're hurting me, Henry!"

"Enough." It was a command for silence, not that she had words to resist. He was on her again, swallowing each breath with his relentless lust, forcing responses she both loathed and loved, urging her on as she fought to remember the man he'd been. She loved him, looked for him, desired him-no, it was Hyde she desired, not Jekyll.

Henry…

Hyde.

_Henry…_

Not Henry, _Hyde_. _**Hyde!**_

It pounded in her mind like drumbeats, mixing in her blood until she succumbed, her breaths coming too short, her head spinning into nothingness. She clawed his shoulders, marveling at the strength she had always suspected was there, rippling under the surface. His fastidious nature would have been horrified by her, her cheap perfume that had Hyde drawing wet gasps at her throat, aroused to madness as she both fought and embraced him. It only served to excite him, driving him on as he groped at her, his hands fumbling over her thighs and under her skirt in rough, abrasive exploration. He thrust her skirts aside, ripping her petticoats as he brought one hand to his waist.

Delirious, she lost several moments before realizing his intent. Fondling was one thing, but she couldn't allow Hyde to have her-Jekyll would never forgive her for that. She twisted free of him, only to be shoved brutally back against the wall, his rasping breaths hot on her face.

"No, Hyde! We can't, not tonight-Hyde, no, stop it-" she clawed at his face, feeling the slip of cloth against her legs. "No!"

He could not hear her, grunting as he pressed against her, beastlike in his quest for fulfillment. She felt him against her thighs, her body suddenly rigid with fear, and she pushed him away with superhuman strength.

"Henry, NO!" she shrieked it, shaking so violently she had to grasp the bedstead for support. "Get out of here, Hyde. I won't have you in my rooms, and I want you out. Go!" she went to the door, flinging it open as he stared. He moved towards her, still leering, and she felt her skin go cold. "Get out, Hyde-I'll scream if I have-"

The cloth came down on her face, accompanied with searing pain, and she suddenly understood the smell of his clothes. _Chloroform_.

"God, please…" she moaned as he lifted her and threw her on her bed, her blood scorching her skin, crumpling the coverlid underneath her hips. Pain swept over her, forcing cries that were whimpers for her unresisting limbs, tears soaking her face as her body succumbed. Before darkness swallowed her, she heard his laugh, a growl so deep it thundered in her skull.

_"God, Lucy? God is dead_."


End file.
